Causatum
by Cerulean.Phoenix7
Summary: Ripples are not just limited to the surface of a pond.


Causatum

A/N: Here's some nice fluff to tide us over until September :) This was mainly inspired by 3.09 'Marionette'.

Disclaimer: Do. Not. Own. Nadda.

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><p>Walter Bishop stands proudly, his shoulders drawn back slightly beneath the cover of his sweater. He's more content than one could ever conceive. He smiles at the crowd of people congregated in rows before him beneath the emerald canopy of trees, they all look wondrous. Much of it is shrouded in white, classical yet sophisticated. He doesn't have to think twice to know the inspiration behind such decor.<p>

Then there's Peter, standing by the altar in an impeccable tuxedo. Classic black, as he would choose. He sees Peter fidget slightly, a soft wave of anxiety ebbing out from him.

_Like father like son_, Walter thinks. _If only he knew how nervous I was when I married Elizabeth. _

He recalls, with a supremely bright smile how he had a few glasses of champagne before hand and realised all too late that it had been one too many.

_At the very least I remembered to say 'I do.'_

There's the gentle sound of a piano, tucked away by a tree and he stands; shrouded away in shadows but he can still see Olivia, radiating in a creamy white dress. Her movements are slow and orderly, it gives her the appearance of floating down the aisle.

He watches no one other than himself lift the ethereal veil over her head, her halo of blonde hair catching faint streamers of light that sneak in through the trees.

He's never seen Peter look so happy.

But the perfect scene is disturbed by a voice next to him, one that punctuates reality for him like the sharp flick of a pencil.

"It is most curious," says September stoically, "that by a single event, such circumstances can occur."

Walter smiles jovially. He wonders what had drawn them back together after myriad voids had wedged themselves between the contours of their happiness; jutting painfully into the contours of their lives.

"Tell me," Walter says softly. "By what event, does this occur?"

September tilts his head slightly, and then turns to face Walter, "I cannot be certain," he shifts his head back, his eyes unwavering in their conviction. "I only see the possibilities, a shade of things to come. I cannot tell you precisely what causes this."

Walter frowns and looks back to the altar, where he sees Peter gently taking Olivia's hand, a gold band resting between two fingers. He can see his lips moving, but he's so far away that Peter's vow is muffled to a soft whisper.

Walter feels a weak smile curl the corners of his lips as he sees himself sitting in the front row, straight and tall as any Bishop would.

"I wish I could know what moment leads to this," he says softly with a touch of envy.

"You will," September says stoically. "Come," he says and Walter turns to see September a few feet away from him. The shadows of the trees carve strange patterns into his fedora, angular and geometric.

"It's time to go."

Walter follows him, his feet swishing against the emerald grass.

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><p><em>Two years earlier...<em>

"Oh! Peter, can we stop at that delightful bistro before we get back to the lab? I have the most insatiable craving for a strawberry milkshake," Walter says as Peter smirks beside him in the car, a jazzy melody drifting through the air.

"Alright Walter," he says as the car glides smoothly against the curb outside the bistro. Walter ambles out, the prospect of a large, frothy milkshake more tantalizing than a new manifestation of pseudo science.

He's always been one to vocalise the desires of his stomach more than his heart.

"Come on Peter," he insists, his knees bouncing slightly against the edges of his long coat.

Peter shuts the door of the car, the station wagon starkly noticeable against the backdrop of SUVs and small cars, like whipped cream smothered over a mountain of strawberries. Walter hears his stomach grumble.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'," Peter says with a douse of sarcasm. "Relax Walter, it's not like the milkshake is going to suddenly grow legs and run away from you."

Walter's already opened the door to the bistro by then, but he looks back at Peter and says with a quirk of his eyebrows, "How do we know that?" then proceeds inside.

He's grateful that the line isn't long, as his patience has dwindled to mere threads of mortal sanity, and he knows that's never a good sign.

When he gets to the front, he's giddy and knows that he's smiling like an idiot, not altogether sure why. He wishes that he had some Brown Betty. He knows without any notion of doubt that a strong whiff of Betty always gives him a reason to be happy.

Then he remembers the milkshake and the happiness floods him again, like a fresh rush of adrenaline through his system.

"I'd like a large strawberry milkshake please... oh and don't forget the whipped cream," he adds.

The lady behind the register smiles at him, it's a kind smile. Then she looks to Peter. "And for you sir?"

Peter looks up, clearly from some sea of distraction and says. "Uh yea just a regular coffee, one cream and one sugar."

She types it in on the register and Walter's already moved down to the pick-up counter as he watches them mix the milkshake, he's always enjoyed watching things created, he's always felt that there's some sort of great understanding that comes from that, a sort of inside look into the pages of magic.

He faintly hears her ask Peter. "Will there be anything else?"

Walter looks over and sees Peter turn slightly, towards him and then back to the counter,

"Actually," he says, pressing a finger to his lips briefly. "Can I get another coffee, black with one sugar?"

Walter has no idea why he ordered the second coffee, and any further interest vanishes as he sips at his milkshake, the frothy delight curling around the straw.

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><p>When they get back to the lab, Walter eagerly struts over to a lab bench, his lab coat flapping through the air before landing swiftly on his shoulders. He threads his arms through and goes about setting up Bunsen burners and beakers, twirling fluids about until he sees Olivia walk in, brows crunched together on her forehead and lips pressed tightly like a whip. She struts to her office and he hears the sigh of her office chair as she sits down.<p>

He's about to return to his work when he sees Peter walk in and look towards Olivia's office, then he's walking swiftly towards her open door, a steaming cup of coffee perched between his hands.

When Peter walks into her office Walter tilts his body slightly, leaning his body so that his line of sight peeks into Olivia office.

He sees Peter set the cup of coffee on her desk and set a hand on her shoulder. The motion is delicate, a daisy rustling in the wind. He sees Peter smile at her and she reciprocates, if not weakly before he moves to leave.

Walter can't remember ever having moved so quickly before, but he's not one to be caught peeking.

Walter's abilities are clay that he can mould and shape to his purpose, infinite possibilities from infinite skill.

On the other hand, Peter's charm is a red carpet which he throws out for others, tempting them into his fortress.

Walter's only glad that his son has finally rolled out that carpet for the right reason.

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><p><em>One week later<em>...

"Peter," Walter asks, treading lightly towards the door, abandoning the sumptuous piece of blueberry pie on the coffee table. "Where are you going?"

Peter's halfway through shrugging on his jacket and he stops to look at Walter, the material wrinkling awkwardly on his shoulders.

"I'm going out Walter," he says and then tugs the rest of the coat on.

Walter's curiosity piques, and he can't help but dip his foot into these murky waters. "With who?"

Peter smiles slightly, childish and goofy like a teenager. "Olivia," he says.

Walter doesn't really answer, at least not in words; there's just the bubbly sensation of a wide smile skimming over his face as Peter reaches for a bright piece of paper stuck to the fridge. It's green and reminds Walter of a tree frog.

"Here's Astrid's number if you need anything okay? I'll be back later," he says with a pat on Walter's shoulder before walking out the door, keys jingling between his fingers.

As Walter hears the rumble of the station wagon he whispers into the empty air, "Have fun," and then returns to his blueberry pie.

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><p><em>Seven months later...<em>

Walter is sure that he's no the only one who notices, even though his perception is sharper than the point of a fine needle he's sure that the signs must be obvious. He considers asking Astrid about it on several occasions, but never does.

He's sure it happens, absolutely _positive_ that it happens on the same day that a case meanders its way into their lives, brooding and bubbling in its grotesqueness. The bodies are mangled, ripped and shredded like paper left in the hands of a frustrated child with a pair of scissors. Walter is more fascinated by the skewed angles of the lacerations and the warped jaws; the gears whirring in his mind as he formulates possibilities, carving patterns into the clay of his skill.

He turns away from the body to ask Peter: "What do you think?" but then he sees Olivia's pale face, eyes dark and small beneath the sorrowful curve of her brow. Her skin has capitulated to sallowness, lips a stark pink against her flesh.

Then he sees her hand clamped around Peter's, her black gloves harsh against his skin, creamy like alabaster. Peter's laid out the carpet like a gentleman, letting it run over a muddy puddle that Olivia has to walk over. Peter's face is stoic, but the faint twitch of his lip tells Walter otherwise.

It's not the first time he's seen this, they've shared myriad glimpsing gestures over the past months, shoulders brushing against the other, hands touching over inky paper.

He's seen it, and against the black backdrop of everything else it's a bright red relief.

It makes him believe that hope's beacon is still shining.

Olivia swallows once, and then rushes away. Walter doesn't move to follow her and neither does Broyles. They just look to Peter, who doesn't even acknowledge their looks as he dashes after Olivia, disappearing around a corner of crumbling brick.

Walter turns back to his work, knowing that he can't overhear anything anyways. He works away for what he is sure is twenty minutes before they come back, hands clasped again. There's a tinge of red in Olivia's eyes, spider webs criss-crossing the milky white.

Peter is smiling.

And when Olivia sees it, she smiles too.

Walter watches them walk back, a fresh vigour in their step as Olivia stuffs her black gloves into her pockets.

Walter thinks of the Observer's words.

'_You will.'_

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><p><em>Now...<em>

Walter sits down as the chair creaks slightly and his purple tuxedo wrinkles at his hips. Astrid smiles at him and then looks back to the altar, Olivia's hands now clasped between Peter's.

As they exchange vows, Walter feels the shell of his one ear grow hot and smiles to himself. He knows exactly who's hiding behind those oak trees at the back, but he doesn't turn to look. He never did before and he won't this time.

It's all a continuous circle, and he won't be the one to break it. He thinks how strange it must be to see these now, layers of time meeting an uneven border. But of course, he's already been in those shoes and he recalls that he managed just fine.

He feels a slight movement against his hand and looks down to see Astrid's hand resting on his. He curls his hand over hers and looks back at the altar, where Peter finishes his vow. He sees Astrid blink a few times, her eyes glassy and wide as a smile spreads over her face.

After the pronunciation, Peter gently cups Olivia's face and draws her to him, their lips meeting gently before he sweeps her up off the ground. It's only momentary, but it still makes Walter smile gleefully. They turn out to the crowd and they share the same smiles as applause radiates through the air.

Peter looks to Walter briefly, and Walter knows that he sees the huge smile plastered on his face. He knows that Peter assumes it's from seeing him and Olivia finally together, but it's that and so much more. The warmth along the bridge of his ear has vanished and he knows that the Observer has taken his younger self back home, reserving this moment for the proper time.

But more so he's smiling because of a little stop at a bistro where Peter bought an extra cup of coffee that he's smiling about, all because he wanted a milkshake. His actions are the pebble tossed into the pond, plopping right into destiny's affairs and rippling through any sense of order.

He's never been one for that either.

There's warmth in his heart and he smiles even more, for now there is a moment in time caused by his actions that has not brought suffering, but what he hopes is a lifetime of joy.

Peter shares Walter's smile, but Walter never tells him all the reasons behind it.

He doesn't need to know.

He has Olivia, and she's all that he'll ever need.

_Fin_

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><p><strong>Please review :D Reviews are like pie ;)<strong>


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